


Dates & Times

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:39:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4392167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a very precise memory for the important moments in his and Molly’s relationship, and tonight is the anniversary of the moment when the biggest change of all happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dates & Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sirsquidfish_thefirst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsquidfish_thefirst/gifts).



> So this is another milestone fic! It is the 350th story I've written that involves characters in the Sherlock fandom. ::celebrates:: So I asked Tumblr users in the fandom for prompts and got two, and the one I chose was from **sirsquidfish_thefirst** which was _Sherlock and Molly's anniversary of the first time they did the do_. I decided for it not to be explicit but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

He had usually not been the type to keep track of milestones or anniversaries, but when it came to his relationship with Molly he remembered every last detail of each interaction, from what they were wearing to what they said, from where they were to all the other insignificant details like sounds and smells. No one else had this great a detail save family and John, and he’d wondered at that for the longest time until he’d come to the realization she was special to him.

The first time they had met had been on December 23rd, 2008 at 9:08 in the morning. Stamford had been telling him there was a new pathologist and to treat her kindly. He’d perked up at the mention of “her;” women were more pliable and he might have more leniency with a woman than a man. He’d brushed off Stamford’s concerns that he not be an ogre and strode into the morgue, and the first sight he had see was her bent over, pulling out a body from the lowest row of the refrigeration unit, her hair falling in her face. She’d gotten straight to work. Turned out, however, she was just clearing out Hamilton’s old liquor stash and hadn’t started on the body. She’d jumped slightly when he’d opened the door, a little squeak of a voice, and looked up at him with wide eyes. She had on a hideous Christmas jumper and green corduroy trousers, and as soon as she collected herself she gave him a dazzling smile, held out her hand and said “You must be Sherlock Holmes. I’m Molly Hooper.”

He stubbornly called her Doctor Hooper but in his mind palace, from day one, she was Molly. Just Molly. The first time her let her name slip from between his lips was November 5th, 2009. He had a fever, shouldn’t even have been out that day, but there was a killer plaguing London. A killer, he found out years later, under the employ of Moriarty’s vast criminal network. He was chilled to the bone and sweating like a pig and trying to listen to her autopsy results, to make heads or tails of it, when she stopped and walked around the table and pushed him towards her office. She peeled his coat off of him and then left him on the cot in the corner, draping his coat over him, but he was too delirious to care. After a bit she came back with one of the scratchy blankets they gave the patients and tucked him in, and every so often came with a glass of cool water for him to drink as he dozed. At 4:17 in the afternoon he was hovering between awake and asleep and she was pushing the curls off his forehead and he croaked out her name before drifting back to sleep, but not before seeing the smile on her face.

The first time he kissed her was at the Christmas party that John had insisted he throw, but that was on the cheek and that didn’t count. The first time he actually kissed her was the evening of his fall, after all of it was said and done, after Mycroft had scurried away from her home and left the two of them in peace. She was sad; he could see that plainly on her face. She knew he could be gone for years, could be gone forever. She would have so little time with him. And the hard part was just beginning for her; there were a handful of people who knew the truth, and all would take the secret to their graves, but very few would be around the people he had chosen to call friends. And so, at 9:28 at night, when Molly had said she was going to retire for the night, she had leaned in to kiss his cheek but he had turned and kissed her lips instead. He had meant for it to be brief, to be something simple, nothing more than a thank you or a simple gesture, but he had felt _something_ he hadn’t expected. A jolt went through him, and it went through her too, and they pulled apart rather quickly at that. She blinked, then blushed and bolted to the guest bedroom. The next morning, she acted as though it hadn’t happened, and he did the same. It was easier that way anyway.

He left shortly afterward and began the task of taking down the network. When he returned, when he saw that she had moved on, he realized his feelings towards her were changing, but he stuffed it down. May 18th, 2014 proved to be his undoing in quite a few ways. That was when he was proved right, when everyone else plainly saw just how unsuitable Tom was for Molly. That was when he saw Molly stab her fiancé’s hand with a fork after he gave his unbelievably stupid deduction at the reception. That was when he realized that he was very much infatuated and quite possibly in love with her himself. He had found himself watching his best friend find happiness in the arms of someone else and the he saw the one person he thought that perhaps he could find it with as well with someone so ill suited for her and he couldn’t be around any of them. 7:26 PM was when he realized he had no chance with Molly, and it would be best if he stopped letting her be so important to him, and so he left the reception heavy hearted.

It was months later with the incident with Janine and Magnussen and the heroin relapse and all of that. November 29th. They were in Molly’s lab at 9:27 in the morning and she slapped him at 9:46 the first time. He made the comment about the ring and that earned him two more slaps but he felt almost deliriously happy. She was no longer tied to the oaf. At 9:46 in the morning he felt a small glimmer of hope. Yes, he had to deal with Janine and figure out what else to do about Magnussen, tie up those loose ends, but Molly…there was a chance, if she could forgive him. He had a chance. 

A chance he promptly blew Christmas Day. He spent much of the next week and a half sequestered at Mycroft’s home as his brother bargained his fate. He wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone, see anyone, know anything aside from what Mycroft felt was important. And then his fate was delivered to him: a most likely one way trip to Russia, to finish the business that had been left unattended a year prior. That was his penance for his actions. It was better than life in prison or some other macabre punishment, and he accepted it with a heavy heart. But his brother showed compassion. He was allowed one night, one night to say good-bye to the person his brother had deduced meant more to him than anyone in the world aside from the Watsons. One night, and that was all.

January 5th, 2015 at 6:38 in the evening he had stood outside her door and knocked rather hesitantly. He didn’t know what his reception would be, whether she was expecting him, whether she would want to see him or not. She answered the door with her hair piled on top of her head, her body garbed in a robe, as though she was going to take a bath. She hadn’t been expecting him, but she welcomed him in anyway. He’d had all these things to say, this grand speech in his head, but it all dried up to dust on his tongue when he looked at her. She asked if it was true, if he was being sent away, and he nodded. She asked if he was going to come back, and he shook his head no. And then she came up to him and leaned in, standing on her toes and kissed him softly. When she pulled away she said, simply, “Stay with me tonight.”

He had not intended for their first time to come about that way. When he’d thought about things, he’d wanted to woo her properly, the way he was supposed to. He’d wanted to take her on dates and take his time, do things the way a normal person would do them. Do things the way she was accustomed to, the way that was proper. But that was not an option. They had one night, that was all, and they would have to make the most of it. And when he kissed her back without abandon, undoing the knot holding her robe in place to feel her soft skin beneath his fingers as she began to push his coat off his shoulders, he knew he would.

He had 7:59 AM on January 6th, 2015 burned into his memory. He had thought that would be the last image of Molly he would have, lying in her bed, tangled in sheets, glimpses of bare leg and bare arm showing, hair splayed on the pillow. He would have given anything to go back into that bed, lie down next to her, pull her close and hold her for the rest of his life. But he had to leave, had to go to the airfield and say good-bye to John and Mary and then get on the plane and leave it all behind. If it hadn’t been for Moriarty’s message, so perfectly timed, that would have been the last he had seen of the woman he loved most in the world.

But now it was January 5th, 2016, and he was looking at the clock. They were not at Molly’s flat; she’d moved into Baker Street some time ago for her own protection, and he had hopes that when all of this was over he could convince her to stay on a permanent basis. In three minutes it would be the anniversary of him standing at her door and her asking him to stay, and he wanted things to be perfect. Which, so far, they were. Except that Molly wasn’t home yet. And she had three minutes.

There was an alert on his mobile and he picked it up. It was from Molly. _I’m running late,_ it read.

He sighed. He had hoped to surprise her but apparently it wasn’t going to happen. _How late? SH_ he texted back

 _A bit._ There was a pause. _I’ll make it up to you._

 _All right. SH_ he texted back before stowing his phone. He glanced at it. One minute and it would be 6:38. He supposed as long as he lavished her with attention and presented her with the engagement ring at 7:59 the next morning it would all work out well enough. A minute later there was a knock at the bedroom door. He frowned and then got off the bed and answered it. There was Molly, standing there in a much nicer robe then she had been wearing a year ago, her hair pulled atop her head and a wide smile on her face. He gave her a grin. “How did you...?”

“John tells Mary all sorts of things that he finds amusing about our relationship,” she said. “The fact that you have the exact times of milestones in our relationships memorized is one of them. I know this isn’t _exactly_ how it played out, but…” She stepped inside the bedroom they were currently sharing and moved closer to Sherlock. “I thought I’d surprise you a bit with your surprise.”

“I like your surprise,” he murmured, reaching for her waist.

“I thought you might,” she said, moving her arms around his neck. She leaned in and kissed him softly, a kiss he very eagerly returned. When she ended the kiss she stayed close. “Stay with me tonight?”

He nodded. “And every night,” he said.

“Good,” she said with a wide smile before kissing him again. She may not realize he really did mean it, but in the morning she would, and that was perfectly fine with him.


End file.
